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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25387495">the popsicle bet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Hockey RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bets &amp; Wagers, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Under-negotiated Kink</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:00:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,912</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25387495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are only inches of space between them. Patrick meets Jonny’s gaze, and his eyes are clear. </p><p>“Take your prize,” he says and opens his mouth wide, easy as that. His tongue is still stained red.</p><p> </p><p>or </p><p> </p><p>Jonny and Patrick make a bet about the popsicle-eating contest.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>194</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the popsicle bet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello everyone! Making my grand entrance to the Hockey RPF fandom with... two thousand words of pure filth lol. </p><p>Set after <a href="https://youtu.be/mFLXDpZV9ew?t=176">the infamous 1988 popsicle-eating contest</a> during the 2010 Winter Olympics.</p><p>Shoutout to eak_a_mouse for being the best beta ever! &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a joke, and Jonny’s just playing along. That’s what he tells himself when Patrick tugs his hand towards the elevator after the stupid popsicle-eating contest. That’s what he tells himself in the ride up to Patrick’s room. That’s what he tells himself as the door to Patrick’s room closes behind them. That’s what he tells himself up until the very moment Patrick gently pushes Jonny back against the wall and then slowly sinks to his knees, and Jonny realizes with startling clarity that he’s made a grave miscalculation.</p><p>“S-Stop!” Jonny stutters out, hand shooting out on impulse. It flutters in the air for a moment before Jonny snatches it back. Patrick doesn’t speak. He doesn’t laugh to end the charade or smoothly stand up. He just tilts his head back to meet Jonny’s eyes.</p><p>“Fuck, you don’t have to do this,” Jonny tries again. Patrick’s the one on his knees, but somehow it’s Jonny that’s going red and fevered, shock and fear and, shamefully, heat sparking deep and threading through his core.</p><p>Patrick’s fingers slip under the hem of Jonny’s sweatshirt.</p><p>“Don’t I?” he murmurs, thumbs petting along the line of Jonny’s waistband. “You won, Jonny,” Patrick says. He doesn’t sound bitter or bereft about it. It’s stated plainly, a fact and nothing more. As if it’s not going to change everything.</p><p>Patrick’s hands, his clever, quick, beautiful hands, are steady as they slide Jonny’s shorts and boxers down his thighs. Not like Jonny’s, which are trembling at his sides, torn between pushing at Patrick’s shoulder and burying themselves in Patrick’s hair.</p><p>Jonny’s hard. Wet, too. Patrick’s looking at Jonny’s cock now. His lips are close. There are only inches of space between them. Patrick meets Jonny’s gaze, and his eyes are clear.</p><p>“Take your prize,” he says and opens his mouth wide, easy as that. His tongue is still stained red. His hair is pushed back from his face by that ridiculous white headband. He should look fucking stupid. He doesn’t. God, he doesn’t.</p><p>“Fuck,” Jonny mutters. <em>Okay</em>, he thinks. Okay. And then Jonny is tangling his hand in Patrick’s curls and feeding him his dick, pushing it past his lips into the tight, hot slickness of his mouth. Jonny waits for Patrick to make him stop, to push him away, for the world to come crumbling down, <em>something</em> but the joke is long dead, and Patrick’s eyes flutter close at the stretch, and his lips open up for Jonny’s cock until they’re brushing against his pubes, and—</p><p><em>Oh</em>, Jonny thinks. <em>It’s like that</em>.</p><p>Jonny watches his cock reappear inch by inch as Patrick slides back up. He pulls off with a pop and licks his lips like he’s chasing the taste. His eyes are glazed over and the world is still spinning on its axis but the seal is broken, gone, destroyed.</p><p>It hits Jonny just then. The enormity of it all. He can’t look anymore, has to anchor his gaze on the ceiling just to replace the image, presses the heels of his hands against his eyes when it doesn’t work.</p><p>Nails bite sharp and sudden into his hips.</p><p>“Look at me, Jonny.”</p><p>They don’t let up until Jonny meets Patrick’s eyes. Jonny feels abruptly furious. Patrick never makes it easy. Won’t just let him receive. No, he has to <em>take</em>.</p><p>Jonny gives him what he wants, because he has no choice. He watches when Patrick wraps his spit-slicked hand around the base of his dick. Patrick’s looking right at him as he licks a long, flat stripe on the underside from root to tip and makes him feel so, so good, and Jonny doesn’t feel like the winner at all.</p><p>Patrick stays like that, licking broad strokes down the length of Jonny’s dick at all angles like it’s—like it’s a fucking popsicle, flattening his tongue to maximize the places where he and Jonny are touching and then he swirls his tongue around the head and <em>yeah</em> Jonny is losing in the worst possible way.</p><p>Patrick does it slow, making the hot slide last, flicking his tongue against Jonny’s slit, tongue curling up at the end. The stained red flashes at him. Is it strawberry? Cherry? Jonny wonders if Patrick can still taste it, if the sweet is mixing with the salt of Jonny’s cock. The thought makes Jonny groan, and Patrick’s breath gives an answering hitch.</p><p>Patrick’s finally starting to go red, the flush in his cheeks beginning to match his lips and his tongue, and Jonny feels briefly and utterly triumphant.</p><p>When Patrick finally starts to suck, it isn’t perfunctory. It’s—practiced, calculated, lips real soft and malleable down the shaft and pursed tighter around the head. He ducks down to suckle at Jonny’s balls and the sight is so dirty Jonny has to break his promise, has to close his eyes against it or he’ll crack straight down the middle.</p><p>Patrick’s done this before. It’s absurd and impossible and <em>true</em> and Jonny suddenly sees it so clearly he wants to tear at his hair— those pink lips wrapping around countless cocks. Does he do it to them like he’s doing it to Jonny, lapping at the slit and blinking up prettily through his lashes? Jonny feels jealousy rush through him so violently, and he doesn’t know what’s happening or why but he snaps his hips up quick and sharp in punishment.</p><p>The joke’s on him though, because Patrick lets out a choked little moan and reaches down to palm at his own dick and <em>oh</em> it’s not a punishment at all. Finally, Jonny sees the truth of it. He reaches down to stroke at the thin skin of Patrick’s cheek, and he can feel his cock sliding in on the other side, fucking in deeper and deeper, and Patrick’s throat just opens right up, and Jonny wonders how the fuck he missed this.</p><p>“Fuck, Peeks, you like this so much,” he whispers, and he knows it’s the truth even before Patrick whines and hitches his hips forward, working futilely against the air.</p><p>Jonny pumps up a few more times, watches the spit and precome gather and mix and drip and smear and <em>fuck</em> Patrick is getting filthy, but he just sits there and <em>takes</em> it and Jonny is never going to be whole ever again.</p><p>Jonny eases Patrick off his dick. Now when Patrick meets his eyes, they aren’t clear at all. His pupils are blown out, and his breath is coming out in harsh little pants, and his lips are puffy and slick. Jonny’s calm now, grounded in this new reality. He strokes across Patrick’s cheekbone and watches with fascination as Patrick shudders under his touch, eyes dropping and cheeks heating impossibly further.</p><p>Jonny reaches out and tilts Patrick’s chin up.</p><p>“Look at me, Peeks.” Patrick blinks hazily up and him and watches as Jonny guides his cock back towards Patrick and brings it to rest against his lips.</p><p>“Open up, baby,” Jonny murmurs and <em>fuck</em> he has no idea where that came from. “Finish it off.”</p><p>Patrick gives one last quick press to his own cock, and slowly, he opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out like he did in the beginning, and it’s both the same and so, so different. The red has rubbed off his tongue, leaving it even and pink, and the thought that Jonny is the only thing he’s tasting makes him dizzy with heat.</p><p>Jonny grips his cock and slaps it down on Patrick’s tongue, and the way Patrick’s fingers dig into the meat of Jonny’s ass in response makes Jonny want to bury his cock in Patrick’s mouth and ruin him forever. But it’s Patrick’s job, now, his end of the deal, so Jonny just rests his cock on Patrick’s tongue, lets it catch on his plush bottom lip and waits for Patrick to do his due diligence.</p><p>Patrick could finish it off quick. Give a few long, hard sucks and fist his cock just so. But he doesn’t. He nuzzles his cheek against Jonny’s cock and sighs, breath ghosting across the patch of curls nestled around Jonny’s base. He brings his hand up to trace a vein on the underside of Jonny’s cock and thumbs right under the head to guide Jonny’s cock back into the hot clutch of his mouth.</p><p>He sucks wet and soft and sloppy, slow like he’s savoring it, and he looks so goddamn beautiful that Jonny has to fight the urge to bend down and press a kiss to his lips.</p><p>Patrick’s using his hands now along with his tongue, licking and swirling and slurping at the head while his fist pumps and twists around Jonny’s base to his shaft and it’s just too good, too much and Jonny is gonna—Jonny thinks he might—<em>fuck</em>, he’s coming, the first spurts making Patrick jerk back in shock, a string of saliva still connecting his lips to the tip of Jonny’s dick.</p><p>Jonny should probably apologize or at least feel embarrassed, but he can’t make himself feel sorry for the way his come is dripping down Patrick’s cheeks and lips. Patrick looks<em> marked</em> by him, and it makes something dark and hot and possessive tingle down his spine.</p><p>Patrick makes a soft sound and moves forward. He doesn’t wrap his lips around Jonny’s cock to make sure things don’t get too messy, to make sure the come is collected and disposed of with his tongue. Instead, he presses little sucking kisses to the head of Jonny’s dick, letting the rest of the come dribble past the corners of his mouth and shoot against the thin skin under his eye, his chin, even his hair, working one hand under his shorts against his own cock like he can’t help himself.</p><p>Jonny is panting, abs clenched and chest heaving, shell-shocked to the core. His fingers move out of their own accord, smearing through the mess on Patrick’s face, and it’s probably fucking rude, but he doesn’t care, can’t care.</p><p>“You made me come so hard,” he chokes out because he can’t believe it, even though the evidence is hot and wet in front of him.</p><p>And Patrick—Patrick loses it at that, cursing and slumping forward like his strings have been cut, forehead dropping to press against Jonny’s stomach as he shoves his shorts down and takes out his cock.</p><p>The scratch of Patrick’s headband against his skin feels like a brand, and he watches Patrick shoot all over his hands and shorts after a few quick, rough strokes, and he knows he’s completely and utterly fucked.</p><p>Patrick lifts his head off Jonny’s stomach, but he’s not meeting Jonny’s eyes now. He tucks himself back into his shorts and rises to his feet shakily, and then he’s standing in front of Jonny covered in sweat and come drying on his face—<em>Jonny’s</em> come—and it’s gorgeous and obscene and overwhelming in the worst possible way.</p><p>Patrick scratches at the back of his neck. “Was that—” he starts hesitantly and stops, looking so vulnerable it makes something in Jonny’s chest squeeze tight. Fuck. <em>Fuck</em>. This is a bad idea for so, so many different reasons. But Jonny’s not in control anymore. He draws close and tilts Patrick’s chin towards him.</p><p>“Yes,” he whispers against Patrick’s lips, and then brings his mouth to press against Patrick’s, tasting himself on Patrick’s tongue, kissing him until he can’t tell where his taste ends and Patrick’s begins.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You can find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/tarcanza">Twitter </a>. Come say hi!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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